


You Called?

by Tainted_Grace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mentioned Isaac Lahey, Mentioned Scott McCall, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tainted_Grace/pseuds/Tainted_Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn’t mean for it to happen, it just sort of snowballed. One minute he was doing research on a neko at a high end club that serves the, shall we say, rich and bored of Beacon Hills, and the next he was being offered a job. He knew he could turn it down, but his curious brain just couldn’t refuse the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.</p>
<p>Fast forward to six months later and Stiles has become the most requested ‘entertainer’ employed at The Hills Bar & Club. He enjoys the work, enjoys the women, and men, fawning over him and hanging off of him like he is something to be cherished, something to be protected. Stiles knew this had gone too far, knew he was lying to everyone to keep his dirty little secret but he couldn’t help it. </p>
<p>What happens when one of his customers is a familiar face?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Called?

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoo! Another fic, unBeta'd because I'm impatient as hell and just wanted to get this up. Feel free to comment any mistakes down below and I'll eventually fix them. Thanks for reading.
> 
> If you like it, don't forget to tell me what it is you liked and leave me some kudos! Thanks again! <3

Stiles didn’t mean for it to happen, it just sort of snowballed. One minute he was doing research on a neko at a high end club that serves the, shall we say, _rich and bored_ of Beacon Hills, and the next he was being offered a job. He knew he could turn it down, but his curious brain just couldn’t refuse the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Fast forward to six months later and Stiles has become the most requested ‘entertainer’ employed at The Hills Bar & Club. He enjoys the work, enjoys the women, and men, fawning over him and hanging off of him like he is something to be cherished, something to be protected. Stiles knew this had gone too far, knew he was lying to everyone to keep his dirty little secret but he couldn’t help it. Working at the club and selling his body to people for extreme amounts of money was an easy way to support the Pack’s appetite and all of the clothes they need from constantly destroying their wardrobes.

It’s a night like any other, maybe a bit cold or a bit humid, but normal nonetheless. Stiles is currently working behind the bar, alternating between serving drinks to the customers eagerly sitting at the counter and sucking jello-shots out of the mouth of the cute twink beside him also serving their loyal patrons. None of the people in the club would dare tell the Sheriff about his son’s job, finding the forbidden feel of it all more appealing to their senses. Stiles hears a whistle from the second floor office and his head automatically snaps in the direction of the sound. A hand beckons him over and he gives the twink one last sucking, bruising kiss before making his way through the club to the stairs along the wall. With a few short leaps Stiles makes it to the top of the stairs, his skin tight shirt raising slightly to reveal the taught expanse of his lower stomach.

“Hey, Boss, what’s up?”

“You’re breaking Patrick in nicely, I see. Anything new?” The aging man with thinning grey hair and beady dark brown eyes asks, scanning the club subconsciously.

“Not really. I mean, Mr. Troye finally started banging Sonya Bane, but no, nothing of importance. Why?” Stiles shrugs, scanning the club out of habit and finding most of his regular customers in different places around the room.

“Good for him. That man deserves a woman like her. Tell me, Stiles, do you enjoy working here? Be honest, please.” Stiles nearly blanches at the level of honest curiosity in the man’s voice, trying to keep his feelings hidden.

“Yeah, I love working here. I gotta say, I was a little shocked you took me on since I’m a minor and all, but I couldn’t be happier.” Stiles nods honestly, whiskey colored eyes shining in the dim lights illuminating the large space.

“That’s good to hear. I have a request, and you may say no if you wish.” The man starts, eyes avoiding Stiles as if his life depends on it.

“Sure, what is it?”

“I have this patron. He’s more of a silent party, though, so he never comes to the club. Considering that this particular patron is somewhat of a self-proclaimed loner, he prefers the club comes to _him_. He has a certain type, you see, and I can’t find the right person to fill it.”

“Frank, babe, you’re rambling. Just spit it out.” The seventeen year old insists, resting a hand on his boss’ shoulder and forcing the older man to look at him.

The man lets out a little chuckle at Stiles’ attitude and shakes his head. “It’s simple really. You go over to this address,” Frank holds up a slip of paper as he continues and Stiles nods, “and you show him a good time. You’re his all night, and he’s willing to pay three times your nightly take if you’re his type. I hope to God you are, kid. I can’t afford to make him unhappy. He owns half my company.”

“Okay. That sounded vague and creepy.” He chuckles, taking the paper and pecking Frank on the cheek as a farewell.

“Stiles, don’t open that until you get to your car. You can borrow any costume you like, just bring it back tomorrow.” Frank calls from the top of the stairs and Stiles beams up at him, vanishing behind a door at the foot of the steps.

He looks through the rows of different costumes, everything from a French maid get up to a see-through apron and matching bright pink thong, though that one is mostly for the women that work at the club. Stiles’ eyes catch on a length of dark brown fur streaked with blonde and black and he smirks, picking up the tail and rummaging through the drawer for the matching ears. He strips off his clothes, folding them in a neat stack on his designated vanity, before he brushes out his hair and styles it up into a messy quiff.

Next he fits the headband on the crest of his head, two furry ears peeking naturally from his hair and looking like they belong there. He then turns his attention to the foot-long tail that has a glass butt plug at the end. He smirks at the irony of it all: him being the only human in his group of friends and yet roleplaying as a wolf for fun. He isn’t sure what that says about him, but he can’t really find it in himself to care as he coats two of his fingers in lube and starts to massage himself open. He doesn’t allow himself to get too into it, just enough so that his dick is standing proudly between his legs and his ass is aching to be filled. He grips the base of the tail and shoves the glass end in to the hilt, moaning at the feel of the cold intrusion mixed with the sensuous tension of fur tickling around his sensitive hole.

“If Scott ever found out I’d be a dead man.” He comments to himself as he slips on a pair of neon blue boxer briefs that hug his rock hard dick tightly and cause him to nearly moan again. He pulls the tail through the little slot in the back that Frank had specially made before grabbing the matching pair of skin-tight black jeans. A white wife-beater and a worn leather jacket complete the look and Stiles walks back out to the main club room with the knowledge that all eyes are on him. The workers all know what the tail is, some of them twitching at the images the thing brings to mind, and the patrons are all either looking at his dick, which is straining against the confining denim, or his chest, which can clearly be seen through the nearly transparent singlet.

He smirks as he struts through the club to the side door where the employee parking is. He climbs into the front seat of his old baby blue Jeep, tossing his head back at the feeling of the plug pushing deeper into his ass. He opens the piece of folded up paper that Frank gave him and he does a double take when he reads the address. When he finally realizes he’s read it right and isn’t imagining things, his dick grows even harder and he floors his car in the direction of the industrial parkway on the outskirts of town.

The entire way he debates whether or not he should stop or turn around, but he decides that it’s now or never so he continues to drive until he parks beside a shiny black Camaro in front of a bronze-colored steam-punk style building. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and steels his face into the mask that he wears every time he has a customer to please.

Stiles tries to convince himself that his following through with this is because of the money, the promise of three times his nightly take, but it doesn’t even sound true in his own head, let alone when he says it to his reflection in the elevator twelve times between the first floor and the fifth. He takes another deep breath when he steps off the lift, eyes glued on the familiar door across the hall with a sliding door the color of copper.

He know that behind that door is a loft that lacks both warmth and character. He knows there is a bed in the right corner opposite the door, by the wall of windows. He knows there is a living room area taking up most of the floor at the bottom of the four steps just inside the door. He knows there is a wrought iron spiral staircase in the corner by the window, opposite the full-size bed. He knows there is a ten foot long wood slab that passes for a table between the stairs and the bed, but he knows there are no chairs anywhere near it. He knows that there is a bathroom at the top of the stairs, just off the small, yet functional, kitchen area, with a massive shower that has amazing water pressure and a seemingly endless supply of hot water. He knows that his client will most likely be relaxing in the black leather arm chair that’s angled almost directly at the door beside the matching couch facing the giant flat screen Scott and Isaac installed a few weeks ago. Stiles knows more about this apartment than he should, but he knocks on the door anyway, his face that same sultry mask of pure sex and seduction that no one has been able to resist.

“Come in.” he hears and a shudder runs through him as his hunch is confirmed. He sighs and slides the huge door to the side, keeping his head down to hide his face as he quickly spins to close the door, his tail swishing behind him as he slides the door shut. He hesitates to turn around, but does so anyway, walking down the four steps and keeping his head down. _“Stiles?”_

The teen smirks and raises his head, that astounded tone being all he needs to gain the confidence he needs to look right into the werewolf’s eyes without a single trace of embarrassment or timidity. “Hello, Derek.”

A few open-mouthed seconds of gaping later Derek composes himself enough to clear his throat to speak, a blush covering his cheeks and his eyes focused somewhere off to Stiles’ left. “What are you doing here?”

“Working. You called, didn’t you?” Stiles asks, strutting across the room to stand just two feet in front of the chair he predicted Derek would be sitting in (he was right, of course).

“Stiles, I called a club. A sex club. You can’t possibly work there.” Derek protests, his confusion overshadowing any embarrassment he might feel from this conversation.

“Yeah, you called The Hills. I work there. I have for months.” Stiles nods, inching closer to Derek when the wolf isn’t paying attention.

“But you’re a minor! And your dad is the Sheriff! If he ever found out-” Derek starts, Stiles cutting him off by sliding into his lap and resting two fingers over his lips.

“Every single lover I’ve ever had has promised not to tell my dad. They find the forbidden fruit the sweetest, you know. Which is also why me being a minor is a massive turn on. My birthday is in a few weeks, so it’s really not that big a deal.” Stiles explains, face closer to the werewolf’s than it has ever been in the three years he’s know the last surviving member of the Hale pack.

“Stiles, this is wrong. I was-” This time Derek cuts himself off and a deep red blush coats his cheeks, causing Stiles to get curious.

“’You were just’…” he prompts, leaning in to nibble at Derek’s ear, surprised when the wolf doesn’t stop him, but instead leans into it.

“God Stiles, I was hoping Frank had someone like you, but not actually you! You’re a minor! This is wrong. I don’t need another reason for your dad to throw me in jail. You should go.” Derek struggles to get through the whole thing, especially when Stiles rocks his hard cock against his abs and makes him nearly lose his train of thought.

“Why someone like me? No one does me better than the real thing, don’t you agree?” He whispers, biting at the werewolf’s earlobe teasingly.

“Because it’s wrong, Stiles. You have no idea how long I have wanted you, but I can’t. I just can’t.” Derek sounds like he is in genuine pain and Stiles wants nothing more than to turn that pain to pleasure so he pulls out all of the stops and uses his dirtiest tricks.

“Maybe you think that, but don’t you think it should be my decision? Why do you think I started to work at The Hills anyway? You were ignoring all of my passes, and my patrons make me feel wanted, make me feel needed.” Stiles ruts up against Derek, careful to not put any pressure on the plug in his ass, at least, not yet.

“It’s the law, Stiles. I can’t do that to you. I won’t.”

“Since when does Beacon Hills actually follow half the laws of _anything_? Huh? There are exceptions to every rule, Der. I sitting here, in your lap, and I know you’re just as hard as I am, and I am _begging_ you to do me.” Stiles says, voice dropped low and dripping with sex.

“Stiles, stop. Don’t do this to me.” Derek pleads and the younger can already feel Derek’s self-control slipping.

“I’m not, baby. I’m doing it to me.” Stiles whispers lowly into the man’s ear hotly, feeling goosebumps rise on the skin of his tanned neck, just inches from his lips.

“Stiles, I can’t.” Derek whispers weakly, his hands planted firmly on Stiles’ hips despite his fervent disagreeing.

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Stiles asks cockily, nosing along Derek’s jaw. “Come on, Der. Do me, I’m so horny. And from the feel of you,” he accents this by grabbing Derek through his pants and causing him to moan involuntarily, “you are exactly perfect.”

“Oh, fuck. I’m so going to Hell for this.” Derek groans, gripping the back of Stiles’ head and pulling him into a filthy kiss that leaves them both breathless and craving more.

Stiles beams when Derek picks him up around the thighs and carries him across the loft to the bed by the windows. When he drops down the plug shifts and he moans, writhing and twisting for more. “What is it? What did I do?” Derek asks, concerned that he hurt the kid.

“N-not you. I-I did it. Ah! Fuck I gotta get out of these.” Stiles insists, shucking his pants off and pushing them down his legs as far as he can. Derek pulls them the rest of the way off and his eyes go as dark as sin when he sees all of that pale freckled skin just waiting to be marked and bruised and bitten.

Derek strips out of his shirt and jeans while Stiles loses his shirt and jacket to the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. He leans over Stiles and captures his mouth in a bruising kiss that causes the younger’s eyes to roll into the back of his head. “D-Derek, ah! F-fuck me. Please!”

The werewolf can’t even begin to ignore a plea like that, especially not in that voice that he is quickly growing addicted to. Stiles lifts his hips when Derek tugs his boxers down and off his body, a look passing between them when the werewolf realizes that Stiles still has a tail, despite him thinking it was attached to the boxers. He picks up Stiles’ thighs and groans when he sees the tail disappearing into the teen’s ass. He rolls Stiles onto his stomach and runs his hands up the backs of the human’s thighs slowly, teasing both of them more than they can handle.

“Stiles, what have you done to me?” He asks, nosing at the pink rim holding the tail in place.

“Ah, fuck! Derek, do it. Please, I need you.” Stiles begs and Derek is very pleased to find that Stiles is just as vocal as he imagined.

“You need what? My fingers?” Derek teases his index around the puffy, twitching hole, knowing how cruel he is being right now. “My mouth?” He nips at the full globe of Stiles’ pale ass cheek which, like the rest of his body, is dotted with small brown moles that add to his beauty instead of take away from it.

“FUCK! Your mouth! Derek, please, Please, I need your mouth. I wanna feel you inside me. Please!” Stiles sounds absolutely wrecked with his voice being slightly muffled by the pillow he is clinging to for dear life.

Derek wastes no time in licking a wet stripe up the cheek he just made a huge hickey on, blowing cool air on the spot afterwards and making Stiles cry out in utter ecstasy. He licks his way closer and closer to Stiles’ hole with each pass of his amazing tongue. Stiles swears he would write entire plays dedicated to that tongue if he could think properly, and he hasn't even touched his hole yet.

Stiles has never felt like this with any of his other customers. Hell, he’s never felt this with _anyone_ before. They’ve barely gotten started and he is already ready to throw in the towel and cum like a schoolboy. Derek makes him scream when his tongue laps at the point where glass disappears into hot, smooth flesh. He licks all around the plug, working Stiles better than anyone ever has and the bottom is loving every second of it.

When Derek finally pulls out the plug with a loud pop, he simply tosses it to the head of the bed and then puts the ears with it, kissing up and down Stiles’ spine before nuzzling into his ass and nosing at his sensitive hole. He groans and licks up the entire crack from behind Stiles’ balls to the small of his back before returning to Stiles’ anus and digging in. He licks and sucks and does something with his tongue that Stiles swears has to be illegal, and takes his human apart piece by piece before slowly building him back up.

When Stiles can’t take anymore Derek rolls him back over onto his back and strips himself of his remaining clothes. Stiles stops him with a tight grip on his wrist when he reaches for the box of condoms that he rarely uses but keeps stashed by the headboard anyway. “No, I wanna feel you. We’re both clean, I mean, you can’t get or pass diseases so I’m safe.”

“Holy shit, could you get any more perfect?” Derek asks, kissing Stiles silent and loose beneath him. He rocks against the cleft of the human’s ass, dick sliding across the crack with so many wordless promises that Stiles nearly passes out.

“Probably could. Wanna gimme a few pointers there, magic dick?” Stiles sasses and Derek laughs.

Even when he’s about to get fucked better than he even has before, Stiles still manages to be the most sarcastic person Derek has ever met. “Stiles, has anyone ever told you you talk too much?” Derek asks, changing the subject as he thrusts into the tight heat of Stiles’ ass with a moan.

“Y-yeah, I think I've heard that somewhere before. Oh God! Are you carrying a baseball bat between your legs!?” he pants out and Derek laughs, a rare smile lighting up his face as he thrusts experimentally into Stiles.

The younger’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he lets out a loud moan that is definitely the sexiest thing that Derek has heard in a very long time.

“Holy shit, Stiles. We should not be doing this.” Derek groans, face going from a daze of pleasure to misery in a second flat.

“Don’t you dare pull out now, Derek Hale! I wanted this, and I’m going to get this, you hear?” Stiles growls, locking his ankles around the werewolf’s waist, trying to keep him close and yet give him space to move and thrust and take.

“You are so greedy, Stiles. So selfish.” Derek mutters into the younger male’s ear, his body contradicting his words as he fucks Stiles firmly into the mattress as rain pours down the wall of windows over his left shoulder.

“You, ah! You love it.” He huffs breathlessly, eyes closed tightly shut to hold off the orgasm that has been steadily building for the past hour since he got that slip of paper from Frank.

“You little-” Derek goes to say but Stiles does this… _thing_ with his hips that renders him absolutely speechless. “Holy fuck! What the hell did you just do?”

“This?” Stiles asks with a cocky grin, twisting and grinding his hips just right to drive Derek in as far as possible.

“Y-yeah, that.” He gasps between pants and Stiles smiles as wide as he can without breaking his face.

“Just a little something one of the guys at work taught me when we had a slow night. The regulars seem to love it.” Stiles shrugs, seeming unaffected by the absolutely possessive thrusts that Derek has started to pound into his body.

“New rule. Don’t talk about anyone else while you’re in my bed.” Derek makes him promise, hands gripping bruises into the thinner man’s hips.

“So, is this gonna be a regular thing?” Stiles asks, hands clawing at Derek’s shoulders.

“N-no. This is never happening again.” Derek says, sounding positive that his decision will hold true.

“Right. ‘Cause you so aren’t getting addicted to my body. Well, more so than usual.”

“Stiles? Shut the fuck up.” Derek orders, shoving two of his fingers past his human’s lips so that he doesn’t have to hear anything that could come out of that sinful mouth and cause him to go back on his decision.

It doesn’t take long after that for Stiles to twist just right and then he’s biting down on Derek’s digits, screaming his release. The white ropes coat Derek’s abs as well as Stiles’ and the sight causes the animal inside Derek to go into over drive and make him want even _more_. He wants to claim, and mark, and take, and never let him go ever again. The moment Stiles constricts around Derek’s shaft he’s coming in thick spurts all over the walls of that tight cavern that he can finally claim as his.

“Fucking hell, Der. If I knew you were that good I the sack, I would’ve seduced you years ago.” Stiles says half an hour later when his vision clears and his ears stop ringing from the most intense orgasm of his entire life, and this coming from the same kid who jacks off at least twice a day, minimum.

“Oh shut up, Stiles. Just stop talking and go to sleep.” Derek orders from where his head rests on the pillows.

Stiles smirks and curls into the taller man’s chest, his head nestled in the curve of the werewolf’s neck. “I can do that. No problem. Just don’t talk.”

“Stiles.”

“Joking.”

“Sleep.”

 

 


End file.
